There's That Moment You Know
by embracethis
Summary: Gregory House contemplates a rather strange series of events after Chase sells him out to Vogler. Oneshot. Slight language and implied themes.


(A note from the author: It seems like an incomplete story, but it isn't. I end it on this note because everyone knows exactly how the story ends. It is set directly after it became clear that Chase was feeding Vogler information regarding House. Reviews are love.)

_What the fuck did I just do?_

It was about the only that that he could hold onto. But even Greg had to admit that he looked relatively endearing when he was asleep. At least then, he couldn't be annoying. He was lying on his stomach with his head buried deeply into the pillow, hair spilling over the sides. Greg wanted to wake him up, suddenly. He wanted to shake him and startle him out of Dream World, yelling, "Wakey, wakey, Wombat!"

But he didn't. Instead, Greg watched the way that his back rose and fell as his diaphragm expanded and compressed with his steady breaths. Instead, Greg observed as he moved his head out just enough to catch a languid inhalation through his flaring nostrils and wet his lips impishly. There wasn't enough Vicodin in the world to deal with this. Well, it was best to start with one and Greg popped it into his mouth quickly.

It had started so freakishly, too.

Greg wouldn't have really thought that Chase – Robert – selling him out would have been much premise to begin fucking. "God, Chase," Greg had grunted as the skilled younger man had impaled his body in varying speeds back against the hilt of his own. Robert had responded with, "Robert…" So they were going to be on a first name basis now.

As Robert's eyes had begun to drift closed, Greg had murmured, "I hope you don't start calling me Greg at work. We don't want the other kiddies thinking that you're something special." Robert had given him a half smile, sleep seeping over his features, blinding him, in acknowledgement of the comment. There was nothing more to it than that. It was merely casual acknowledgement.

Fuck, if he didn't look content. Greg reached out (seemingly out of his own volition) and dragged his fingers through the matted hair. It was still slightly slick with sweat and the ends were tinged with the moisture and Greg wondered if the young man every worked out.

"I don't want this," Robert had said initially, but Greg had used the bottom of his cane to push the Aussie against the wall. "Like hell you don't," he'd growled, and Robert's arms had splayed on the wall behind him. He had been speechless. "If you didn't want it, you wouldn't be so adamant about getting my approval. You don't play both sides because you like the scenery in both places. You're afraid of losing your job…but you're still kissing my ass. You feel guilty about selling me out. The only people who feel as guilty about that as you do are the people who have more to lose. You only _want _that. You're smitten. Now shut up."

Robert had conceded and with every brush of Greg's mouth, he'd become more and more his lapdog.

He'd been amazing. Greg knew this kid had to have had practice before. As far as Greg was concerned, sex was sex and he'd end up getting his rocks off either way. He knew, however, that things would be different from that moment on. Robert had gotten the best of him. At least now, Robert would stop feeding Vogler information. He was too much of a romantic in his beliefs to keep selling him out like that. He'd defend him like a jealous lover.

…he was a jealous lover.

The thought was overwhelming and, panicking, Greg took hold of Robert's shoulder and shook it. "Get up," he commanded and Robert groaned.

"Are you kidding me? I just fell asleep."

"You're going home," Greg told him, and Robert sat straight up.

"What?!"

"You heard me," Greg said, before repeating, "_You'__re going home."_

Robert had no idea what to say and he stupidly sputtered, "B-but…I just got here. And we had sex."

Greg rolled his eyes and sighed. "Chase, you're almost thirty now. You're not a teenager anymore."

"But…"

"I don't have to take you to the prom to feed the one-eyed trouser snake. We both got off, we had a good night, and now you're going to go home. I sleep alone."

Irritably, Robert rose, grumbling and sticking his legs into his pants. He zipped them, buckled the belt, and turned to Greg while he rooted around for his shirt. "Yeah…you're right. You sleep alone, and you'll always sleep alone. You don't care about anyone else other than yourself and you get on these High Holy Pedestals, refusing to believe that you could actually--."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Greg muttered, nodding and lifting a hand to stop the younger man. "I've got it. You're going to lecture me on why I should be a better person. Why don't we skip that part and get to the part where you leave…"

Tossing Greg one final glare, Robert tugged on his shirt and stormed from the condominium. As the door slammed behind him, Greg winced. Maybe he was the one who got fucked after all.

FIN.


End file.
